


Sweet Dreams

by FrenchKey



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Magical Realism, Ominous appearing doors, Potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchKey/pseuds/FrenchKey
Summary: Ciri is suffering from terrible nightmares. One day, a door appears across the street that might just hold all the solutions to her problems.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Lambert
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #015





	Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I did not think I would be able to get this done, but then my brain got the zoomies. It was written in an hour flat, so please excuse any typos.

She noticed the door just after midnight. She was curled up in the window seat of her room. Her favourite blue blanket was wrapped around her legs, but the chill of the night air still leeched through the glass into her. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and shivered. The street was lit solely by puddles of light spilling from the streetlamps. The stars were small and far away and the moon was new. No one and nothing moved in the darkness. Then, between one blink and the next, there was the door.

It was an unprepossessing door. It was wooden, with a large metal handle and a small, round window, set high. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in any of the other shop fronts in the town. The only odd thing about it was its existence. Geralt’s house was in the middle of a solely residential street. She had to walk three streets over to find even a corner shop for sweeties. There was a sign hanging over the door, painted a cheerful blue and showing a cauldron spiralling sandy coloured smoke. The edges of the smoke spelled out ‘Sweet Dreams’. She sat and stared at the door for several minutes, but it didn’t change, or open, or disappear. In the end she dragged herself back to bed.

The door was still there in the morning. It sat there in the empty stretch of wall between number 5 and number 7 and it didn’t move. She successfully ignored it for several days. She didn’t want anything to do with odd doors that appeared during the witching hour. She didn’t. They were most likely dangerous. She was too sensible for things like that. Then, she dreamed.

_The fire ran before her, consuming everything. Smoke choked her lungs. She coughed and screamed. The room shattered outwards, breaking apart. Debris scattered. Grandmother stared at her accusingly from sightless eyes. Blood bloomed across her chest. Eist turned his back with a judgemental look. The fire took him. She stood alone in the maelstrom, screaming silently._

When she dragged herself back to the window seat, the door was still there. The cold seemed to have made itself at home in her bones and she shook under the blanket. The clock was creeping closer to eleven. She hadn’t even been asleep for three hours this time. A sob caught in her throat and choked her. She rubbed her face angrily against her knee and sniffed. The door seemed to be mocking her with its sign. Sweet dreams. She scoffed. There was no power on earth that could make her dreams sweet. 

Warm light spilled from the window in the door, illuminating a patch of the street. It looked welcoming. Friendly. She knew better, truly she did, but something compelled her. She stood from her perch, folded the blanket neatly on the seat and got dressed. She slipped her arms into a warm fleece and laced up her nice, sturdy boots, the ones that were good for shin kicking. She could hear Geralt snoring from along the hall as she snuck down the stairs. The back door opened silently on well oiled hinges and snicked shut again behind her.

She set off down the street. The door wasn’t far. It felt like it took forever and no time at all before the smooth metal handle was turning under her hand and the door was swinging open with a welcome rush of warmth and light. She stepped into the doorway and stared.

The inside of the shop looked a little like the old fashioned sweetie shop her grandmother used to take her to when they holidayed by the coast. There was a long wooden counter, covered in measuring apparatus and small bottles. In pride of place was an old analogue till. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling in shelves, all containing a myriad of jars. It was the jars that were unusual. They didn’t contain pan drops or soor plumes or sherbet lemons. Instead they held swirling lights or ever shifting masses of oddly coloured sand or pulsating balls of ooze. She shivered and considered closing the door and pretending she’d never been there.

‘Well, come in then!’ a gruff voice called from behind the counter. ‘And shut the damn door. It’s bloody cold as balls out there.’

She giggled a little and stepped inside. It was pretty chilly. She shut the door behind her and was suddenly enveloped by warmth and quiet. It felt like the silent inside of every library she had ever been in, but without the watchful presence of angrily shushing librarians. It was a comforting silence. Like cradling a warm mug of cocoa after playing in the snow all day, when everyone is too tired to move, but still content. She sighed. 

A tall man unfolded himself from the shadows behind the counter. As he stood, she could see the chair he had been sitting in. No wonder she hadn’t noticed him before. His dark hair was slicked back and he was glaring. His appearance was made even fiercer by his yellow cat-like eyes and the scar over one eye. Somehow, he struck her as a kind man. She stepped closer to the counter.

‘And what can I do for you?’ he asked, one eyebrow raised. ‘If I don’t miss my guess, little girls like you should be in bed at this time, not wandering around opening strange doors.’

‘I can’t sleep,’ she whispered, knowing that he wouldn’t judge her, but not wanting to admit it anyway.

‘Oh?’ he said, ‘And why is that my problem?’

‘Because your sign says ‘Sweet Dreams’ and you’re clearly magic. So you can help me,’ she said, tipping her head up and trying to channel her grandmother’s most imposing look. 

It must have worked, because the man smiled at her and leaned crossed arms on the counter.

‘So, you’re needing some good dreams then?’ he asked. ‘Suffering from nightmares?’

He didn’t seem to need an answer to the question as he spun away from the counter and picked a selection of jars from the shelves. He flitted about, seeming to know exactly where everything was without looking. He measured and mixed and decanted and stirred and shook everything up and when he was done, he held a small, bulbous glass jar that glowed softly with a deep red light. He held it out towards her. She shoved her hands in her pockets and shook her head.

‘It looks like fire,’ she whispered.

He fixed her with a soft stare. 

‘Fire does more than just harm,’ he said. ‘It provides warmth, food, safety. It isn’t dangerous by nature. Only when it loses control.’

She stepped forward slowly and reached out. He placed the bottle gently into her palm. It radiated a gentle heat. Not enough to burn, just to warm her hands. She nodded and tucked it into her pocket.

‘What do I owe you?’ she asked.

‘Can you whistle?’ the man asked.

She nodded. He pulled a large empty container from underneath the counter. 

‘Whistle into there. Any tune you want. Doesn’t matter,’ he said. 

She did as she was bid and watched as the notes left her mouth and spun into purple smoke that settled calmly into the bottom of the jar. It was gorgeous. 

‘That’s amazing,’ she whispered.

‘It is. It’s beautiful. Controlled sound. It’ll make some beautiful dreams for someone.’

‘Who are you?’ she asked, quietly.

‘Lambert,’ he said, ‘Who’re you?’

‘My name’s Ciri,’ she replied. ‘Thank you for the dream.’

‘Sleep well,’ he said, smiling gently.

_She was curled at her grandmother’s side, a cheerful fire burning in the grate. They both held a cup of cocoa. Fat snowflakes drifted past the window. Eist opened the back door and stomped the snow from his boots. He looked at them and grinned, opening his arms for a hug. She ran to him and he spun her around. She shrieked giggles._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have more ideas for this idea, so stay tuned if you want to see more in this AU.


End file.
